


RSVP

by Ononymous



Series: Undertale Anniversary Requests 2019 [1]
Category: Super Smash Brothers, Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Post-Undertale Pacifist Route, implied crossover - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-15
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-10-18 23:21:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20647382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ononymous/pseuds/Ononymous
Summary: Things have settled down a little for the Monsters of Ebott. Their position on the surface is more settled, and their relationships with each other has grown stronger and healed from the trials of the Underground. Their tales have spread beyond their immediate neighbours, with some people putting different emphasis on different moments and participants. This gives one notable organisation an idea so weird it might just work...





	RSVP

It had been really busy for a few days a while back, as monumental events had necessitated a lot of moving around, but like many places in the Underground, things had gotten quiet here. Even moreso than it had been before. It was truly empty, unlike when it was the home for a few troubled souls in even fewer troubled bodies. Peace had smothered the darkness, only a few strips of emergency lighting reverse engineered from bioluminescent plantlife in Waterfall; more than enough for those born and raised in true darkness.

Objectively, the noise that suddenly shattered the silence wasn't very loud, but if one were accustomed to that silence, it may as well have been a gunshot by their ears. A swift mechanical thunk as two dusty doors slid open. The silence had no chance to regroup either, as a steady source of new sounds kept it back as like a whipcrack. Footsteps, highly muffled ones, ventured deeper into the abandoned facility.

The intruder, if they could be called that, didn't even need what emergency lighting remained. The layout of the rooms were etched into their head, and they knew the last occupant would never have risked moving anything for fear of upsetting the experiment they had desperately tried to reproduce without true understanding. They didn't blame her, those were crazy days back then, pressure was at an all time high. Not their style to grapple with that, and things were more chill after a few years.

A slipper, its colour uncertain in the dark, reflexively dodged a mystery stain on the floor, its matching pair overtaking it as their owner opened yet another door. Green printout from screens along the corridor continued their futile reports of journal entries long rendered obsolete by the accidental success of the project. To the shadowy figure's right, a vague smell of flowers. They really were persistent. But that was not the goal today. To the left, then.

"'sup. why the long face?"

He didn't receive an answer. He'd stopped to regard the most complex machine down here, a large contraption, built from greasy black material that might just be metal, shaped vaguely like a caprine skull. There was a funny story behind why it was shaped like that, great for parties. Unfortunately every time he tried telling it most people scratched their heads. Eh, can't win them all.

One more set of doors slid back to reveal his final destination. A longer room. The untrained eye might have guessed it was a kitchen, given the sinks and fridges everywhere. And the untrained eye was right. The designer of this facility knew when to double up to save a little money. Still, employee lunches had not been kept cold in here for a long time. The figure made his way to the farthest fridge, its colour a dark grey that may as well have been blinding white given the apathetic palette of the room. And then the door swung open, bathing the opener in hues of dirty blue and stained black, casting a long shadow almost to the door he'd entered with.

"lessee here..."

He ignored the few canisters of a golden ichor, knowing better than to disturb it unless absolutely necessary. He did take the bag of chisps, feeling he was gonna need a snack for the return trip. But his goal...

"ah, gotcha."

A bottle of ketchup, a rivulet of the sauce long dried and hardened onto the label, was grasped by his bone white hands. A click accompanied this, and a panel at the back of the fridge fell away. There it was. He rested his hand on the equally white handle of the device. And a low menacing whine started to hum.

"woah woah, it ain't like that..."

A second click arrested the whine just as it built in pitch. The device was properly grounded, safe for transit. Safe for use.

"this'll be a _blast_..."

* * *

"SANS!"

"..." said Sans. Not because he was ignoring his brother, but because he wasn't even in the house and never heard the fraternal remonstrance, and he had no reason to speak otherwise.

"SANS IS NOT AN IDLE WASTREL AND IS WAY TIDIER THAN PAPYRUS IF HE SAYS SOMETHING IN THE NEXT FIVE SECONDS."

A crimson glove stood by a calcified ear hole to magnify its owners hearing, waiting for the challenge. He waited in vain. He always waited in vain. Sans never took up this challenge even if he'd been on the sofa.

"WHILE IT IS GRATIFYING HOW YOU AGREE I AM MUCH MORE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE STATE OF OUR HOUSE," said Papyrus, "IT DOES NOT MAKE UP FOR YOUR SOCKS! AGAIN! AND NOW YOU LEAVE YOUR CORRESPONDENCE LAYING ABOUT TOO, DISGRACEFUL!"

Papyrus picked up the envelope, not paying the broken wax seal much mind, and dropped it in the recycling bin, before returning to the Sisyphean task of collecting Sans' socks.

"ELEVEN... TWELVE... THIRTEEN... I CAN'T BELIEVE HE'D DO THIS AGAIN. OH WAIT, YES I CAN. FOURTEEN... FIFTEEN... AH, THAT'S ALL OF THEM! I'M GETTING FASTER AT THIS."

It took a small discrepancy a moment to reach his brain.

"WAIT A MOMENT...ONLY FIFTEEN SOCKS? HE USUALLY ABANDONS SEVENTEEN! NYAH, TWO OF THEM ARE MISSING!"

The Sisyphean task suddenly escalated to Herculean. Papyrus refused to be blamed for misplacing Sans' socks, even if he could have levelled that at his brother without issue. He carefully examined where the sockpile had been, behind the television, under the pet rock. He checked the kitchen, venturing into the secret recess which had been fun for a while, but had grown untidy from lack of use and lead to an even secreter recess, but no socks remained amid the detritus. Every one of Papyrus' action figures were sternly interrogated, but they all understood game theory and refused to cooperate. The rest of Papyrus' room was just as mum about the missing socks, forcing him to exonerate himself of accidental theft. Relieved, he faced the most gruelling task, Sans' room. The treadmill was observed in operation for twenty minutes, without a sock to disgorge. While the tornado was particularly full of curios today, none of them were cloth based, never mind sock shaped. Nor were they on Sans' computer, which Papyrus logged onto in case he'd accidentally uploaded them. They weren't even behind the hidden door Sans thought Papyrus didn't know about, not in the broken machine or the shelves of instruments or underneath the photograph, though Sans might have been wearing them in that photograph. After putting as much junk in the tornado away as possible, downgrading it to a strong gust of wind, Papyrus planted himself down on the sofa, admitting defeat. Before he could begin plotting the tirade he planned to give his brother, there was a knock on the front door.

"COME IN, YOUR MAJESTY!"

The door opened, and Toriel entered, carrying a basket. "Oh, hello Papyrus. How did you know it was me?"

Papyrus rested a hand over his breastbone in pride. "SIMPLE. SANS WOULDN'T HAVE KNOCKED. THE HUMAN OR YOUR SON WOULD HAVE KNOCKED FOUR OR FIVE TIMES RATHER THAN YOUR THREE. METTATON WOULD HAVE USED HIS FOOT TO KNOCK, AND THAT HAS A DIFFERENT CADANCE. UNDYNE WOULD HAVE KICKED THE DOOR OPEN, AND THAT ALSO SOUNDS DIFFERENT AS SHE USUALLY HITS THE DOORKNOB RATHER THAN THE WOOD. DOCTOR ALPHYS WOULD HAVE KEPT KNOCKING UNTIL I RESPONDED. AND THE KING KNOCKS MORE SOFTLY THAN YOU DO. A SIMPLE PROCESS OF ELIMINATION, YOU SEE!"

"I see," said Toriel, smiling. "A rather unusual skill, but I shan't _knock_ it until I try it."

Papyrus' smile looked rather fixed, but he struggled past the pun. "SO HOW MAY I HELP YOU TODAY?"

"Oh do not worry," she said, "I simply did not hear whether you had gotten your repairs completed, so I have done the two of you a favour and washed some of your clothes for you boys."

"HOW THOUGHTFUL, THANK YOU VERY..." Papyrus' grin looked troubled. "WHAT REPAIRS?"

"Oh, I was visiting yesterday, and Sans was telling me a delightful joke about two Temmies and a Loox, and I noticed an unkempt pile of clothes by your television. He explained your washing machine is broken."

"IT IS?! THEN HOW COME MY OWN CLOTHES CAME OUT FINE...?"

The two reactions were about as divergent as one would imagine. Papyrus leapt to his feet in righteous indignation, his joints click-clacking as he flailed. Toriel just managed to put the basket down before she burst out laughing.

"Hee hee hee, he tricked me! I shall have to congratulate him for that."

"HE COMMITTED FRAUD ON THE CROWN!" raged Papryus. "PLEASE DON'T ARREST US!"

"Now Papyrus, you know I can no longer..." Toriel took a deep breath to control her impulse to giggle. "Do not worry, I am sure Asgore will look past this. Shall we put these away?"

"I MIGHT AS WELL," he grumbled, "I'VE PUT AWAY THE REST OF HIS EFFECTS TODAY. BUT WAIT, I SEE YOU WASHED HIS CLOTHES, BUT NOT HIS SOCKS. WHY IS THAT?"

"Oh. Well, I needed to wash my own socks, and I was not sure if I had room in the machine."

"HOW COME YOU NEEDED TO WASH YOUR SOCKS? I DON'T SEE YOU WEAR THEM AT ALL-"

"Here," she said too quickly, "here are your spare capes."

"OH, THANK YOU!"

Although Papyrus' clothes made maybe a fifth of the load, it took a long time to make sure everything was properly hung up, Papyrus checking and rechecking each garment for creases. They also had to reorganise Sans' cupboards to make sure there was room, and though Toriel feared an even lengthier time of checking her ironing, she was soon spared this fate.

"THESE ARE ALL MY BROTHERS' SHORTS AND JACKETS, YOU SAID?"

"All that were in the pile. Is something missing?"

"TWO SOMETHINGS! HIS BLUE HOODY WITH ABSOLUTELY NO RIPS OR SHODDY STITCHING, AND HIS SHORTS WITHOUT ANY KETCHUP STAINS. HE WASN'T WEARING THEM THIS MORNING, SO WHERE COULD THEY BE?"

"I do not know. Come to think of it, where is Sans right now?"

* * *

Sans' location was not on the agenda over at Asgore's house. Scraps of newspaper littered the floor, while bowls of watery paste flanked the sink. A pair of tanned hands dipped a strip of newspaper into it, let it soak for a few seconds, then carried it over to one of several sculptures on the table.

"Here you go, Asriel."

"Can you do it, Frisk? I just washed the paste out of my fur, and I wanna start painting my face."

Frisk obeyed, watching their brother drip a brush into a blob of black paint. The paste-soaked paper was carefully laid to rest over a rough approximation of a black eyepatch amid a blue face, the eyepatch containing a rough hole revealing the interior of the sculpture. Frisk held it in place for a minute or so before letting go.

"Okay, once it dries out, we can paint it over again," they said. "No harm no foul, Dad."

"Phew, that's a relief." Asgore took a sip of his tea, clinging to the cup with both hands to reduce the temptation to touch anything else. "Claws are stronger than papier mache, I know that now."

"I still think you should leave it like Asgore left it," hollered Undyne, "it looked like I got a badass wound protecting someone! Eyepatches are old news. Hey Alph, how'd ya like your face?"

"Oh you're finished? L-let me- Ah!"

The one human and four monsters converged on the squeak of shock. The sculpture of Alphys' head had captured the shape of her head pretty well, mainly thanks to Alphys' own interventions, but the face lacked a certain... everything. There were no glasses. Her orange eyes were now blood red. The smile was less timid and more battle-hungry, her teeth completely lying about how sharp the original's were.

"Yeah, I think I really captured your passion for science and anime and stuff," said Undyne, her smile matching Alphys' doppelganger.

"It's very... unique, Undyne," said Asgore, still clutching his tea, "but perhaps it may not be how Alphys wishes to be represented."

"...I l-l-like it..." Alphys' scales flushed darker, just before she was seized in a hug. The others smiled at the gesture.

"Hey Frisk, you got any yellow paint?" asked Asriel.

"Hmm, yellow?" said Asgore. "You are finished with your own face? Are you going to paint me?"

"No, I'm still working on mine." Then he suddenly looked worried.

"Are you planning to give yourself some hair? You still don't have any, and we aren't sure if you will."

"It's not that, I..."

Asgore and Frisk frowned at the odd response, so they looked over at Asriel's sculpture. The shape of his ears and muzzle was perfect, thanks to Alphys' help, but the painted details didn't look right. His smile was thin and cheeky, and no fangs poked through them. Instead of his emerald eyes there were two black and beady ones.

"This is... Mister Flowery," said Asgore, recalling the name poorly from non-use. "Asriel...?"

Asriel grabbed one of his floppy ears and started twisting it. "These head statues are for the Barrier anniversary party, aren't they? I just thought... I should be who I was then, shouldn't I...?"

"When you broke the barrier," said Frisk, "you were you."

"Well yeah, but I wasn't me when I planned all that, I was him. He was me, and..."

"...are you feeling more like him today?"

Asriel looked into the purple eyes of his father. "I dunno. Maybe. Just having an off day I guess. It's always around special days when it feels stronger, too. Sorry..."

He looked at the floor in shame, and something more internally aimed. Asgore regarded his son in silence for a moment, then carefully picked up the sculpture of his own head, took the brush from Asriel and did a little dabbing. He turned it round to show the others, revealing a convincing rendition of his own earnest smile.

"This is how I was that day," he mused. "I did not feel it though. Still, how I looked and how I felt were both part of me. They are both me. You were him. You are him. You are also more than him, so much more. It can be a struggle, but I won't be defined merely by my worst self. Neither should you. Please remember that."

Asriel absently scratched a budding horn, wrestling with his emotions. Undyne and Alphys were huddled around their own project. Undyne's act of keeping one eye on the conversation would have been more convincing if she had another to look at Alphys' sculpture.

"Maybe... I should let this be who I want to be. Like Alphys'. Frisk, can you fix- Ah!"

Asriel found himself receiving a nougie from blue knuckles, bleating slightly in shock. "That's the spirit, kid! Never stop never stopping! Damn, your old man's full of nuggets of wisdom. Wish he shared them with me!"

"Erm, but I did. Like those times I advised restraint and patience in your fighting style. Perhaps you forgot?"

"Fuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu!"

Asgore put down his sculpture and raised his arms uncertainly. Clearly he wanted to hug his son to reinforce the affirmation of support, but was unsure how to safely pry him from the iron grip of Undyne's aggressive encouragement. Finally he settled on wrapping his arms around both of them, something that set all three of them into chuckles, wile Alphys and Frisk watched on with warm smiles. At last Asriel managed to slip out of the double envelopment, and his erstwhile captors released each other.

"Okay then," he said, "I'll go finish Papryus, he should be next to..." he frowned. "Hey, where's Sans?"

"H-he should be by the door- Huh, he's g-gone." They heard the front door close.

"What the hell?!" A blue spear flashed into Undyne's hand. "We gotta get to the bottom of this!"

Asgore's phone started to ring. "Hello? Oh, Tori- ahem, Toriel, what is the matter? Sans? Well no, but the oddest thing just happened, we were... Missing clothes? Can't say I know anything, sorry. Let me know if you find anything out." Everyone looked at each other in confusion. Then seven sharp knocks came from the front door, perfectly spaced. "Oh, come in Papyrus."

The door burst open. Papyrus was waving an envelope. "I KNOW WHERE HE IS!"

* * *

"...an' there's your tracking number. Have a nice day, skelly."

"thanks, pal."

The door to the post office slid back, disgorging a slightly sweaty Sans from it. He looked unconcerned, so it was definitely Sans. He mused getting something to eat.

"THERE YOU ARE!"

Sans looked over at the vanguard, led by his brother, waving an open envelope in his gloved hand. "'sup?"

"I BELIEVE YOU HAVE MADE A TERRIBLE MISTAKE!"

"oh, you sat on the whoopee cushion? sorry bro, but i'm pretty sure that was deliberate."

"NOT THAT, THE LETTER YOU RECEIVED. DO YOU STILL HAVE IT?"

"sure. _letter_-us read it tog-"

Papyrus snatched it out of his hand and immediately passed it off to Toriel, who took out her spectacles to recite the document. The others huddled around her to examine it, noting the memorable Logo at the top.

"Dear Mister Theskeleton. Word of your amazing and compelling story has reached us, and we believe it is a story worthy of representation with us. We are honoured to invite you to help preserve the story of you and your friends. You should pack up a spare change of clothes or two, add something to defend yourself with, and prepare to be represented alongside many other unique and memorable stories. Yours sincerely, Anne Nouncer."

Everyone looked at each other, processing this letter. Sans scratched his armpit.

"an' i did," he said. "i just sent along stuff representin' me five minutes ago." Papyrus' jaw dropped.

"Um, Sans," said Asgore, "I believe this group was inviting YOU to come along to their organisation."

"oh, really?" Sans chuckled. "what makes ya say that?"

Papyrus yanked out more paper from the envelope. "THERE WERE PLANE TICKETS IN HERE!"

"...oh. oh well."

"Wait, Sans gets to go off with these guys and represent monsters?!" Undyne snarled. "Why not someone like me, I can actually fight!"

"Perhaps... they appreciate a sense of humour," risked Toriel.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?!" Everyone started laughing, but Papyrus cut them off.

"SANS! THESE TICKETS ARE FOR TODAY! IF YOU HURRY YOU CAN STILL MAKE THE FLIGHT! THIS MUST BE A GREAT HONOUR!"

"...nah."

"THIS IS NO TIME FOR NAH-ING! I'LL BRING MY CAR AND."

"Nah."

The second refusal was final. Silence fell on the group for a moment, as if further protests would have consequences. They wouldn't, but it wasn't like Sans would bother explaining that.

"grillby's closes in half an hour. that trip sounds like too much hassle. too much physical activity for a guy like me. besides, ain't like i'm _smashin_' their plans, they'll get something. c'mon, wanna join me? asgore's buyin'."

Utterly defeated, the group shrugged and made their way to the restaurant, Alphys soothing Undyne's impugned honour. Asriel and Frisk brought up the rear.

"Aw dangit," said Asriel, "he could have gotten some autographs from these guys."

"Really?" Frisk looked over at his pouting face. "Who'd you have in mind?"

* * *

"Yo-"

"Yeah yeah yeah, 'Yo', get out on stage. Yes, the final one. No, no items. Skedaddle!"

An unusually long tongue stuck out at the manager before its emerald owner stomped off to the stage. The manager took a swig of his coffee and got back to the stack of paperwork he was working on. A rather nondescript looking person wielding a sword came up to him.

"Hey boss, any sign of him?"

"Not yet. Anne gave him a phone number, but if he's comin' at all it'll surely be today."

"What if he doesn't?"

The manager picked up a lit cigarette from his ashtray and took a sharp drag from it. "I sure hope he does. I'd hate for this to be our stumbling block. We got a treadmill for Case Kintobor, we got a box small enough for Case Hayter and a room and stage big enough for Case Scott. Hell, nobody expected us to pull off Case Rare, and they're going nuts for it! We've been knocking it outta the park. Case Serif will be our biggest hit yet!"

"But what about Case Fighterking?"

"What _about_ Case Fighterking? This'll be a much bigger hit."

The universe appeared to reward his faith with a knock at the door. The sword person answered.

"Well, is it him?"

"Uh..."

The manager marched up to the large box that had just been delivered. Taking a letter opener he carefully sliced it open, just in case his hoped-for guest was inside.

"The hell...?" He tipped it over, revealing casual clothes, a papier mache mask and an odd draconic skull-like weapon. "It's a damn costume!"

"Oh no, this is just like case Case Carrot..."

"We don't. Mention. Case. Carrot." A sword clattered to the ground in fear. "Dammit, what to do..." He suddenly pointed at someone else. "You, gun guy!"

"Yeah?"

"Put this costume on, you're gonna be Sans!"

"Me? But I just know how to shoot stuff boss, I can't act!"

"Sure you can!" He threw the mask over to him. "You've read all those stories and comics, just make sure he sounds like that starfish, and that he's an angst-ridden tormented soul, who remembers every reset with perfect clarity, willing to abuse and manipulate his friends and allies in pursuit of his ultimately noble goal, all the while haunted by an irredeemably evil kiddo who will forever twist the timeline! Oh and sometimes he turns into a bone dragon or werewolf or something."

"I'm not a hundred percent sure that's accurate," said the sword guy.

"Zip it! Okay, we're live in fifteen, look alive people!"

The manager withdrew to stage lighting controls. The gun guy regarded the relaxing grin of his new mask. Not wanting to go back to his old job in the older incarnation of this gig, he complied, putting on the hoodie, the shorts, the white socks that covered his legs entirely, the slippers, grabbed the skull-gun, then slipped on the mask. An odd relaxing sensation swept over him. His anxiety about being thrust into this role was gone. Some part of him wanted a nap, but he knew better. One of the painted black eyes began to glow blue, while his new firearm’ started to hum menacingly.

"heh." He could do this. This was gonna be a good time.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you think, and happy anniversary!


End file.
